The Lessons of Summer
by Erik Addict
Summary: Forced to spend the summer holidays at school in the charge of her teachers,a boring holiday awaits the orphaned Christine, but when she befriends the school’s reclusive music teacher the course of her summer changes, and so does her life. Summary inside
1. Chapter 1

**My note: **Well, this is my first ever piece of 'phan' or even just plain 'fan' fiction! I'm so excited that I've finally managed to get one of my many ideas and actually write something around it and turn it into a story! Since this is my first story I'd love to receive feedback from every reader, I know this is a lot to ask, I myself have to be one of the world's sloppiest reader / reviewers, but I really would appreciate all the feedback I can get to improve my writing style, point out my errors or just brighten up my day and tell me I'm doing a good job!

**About this phic:** An orphan living at a boarding school, Christine has no alternative but to spend the summer holidays at school in the charge of her teachers. Left in solitude, with nothing to do, a boring holiday awaits. But things changes when she befriends the school's reclusive yet intriguing music teacher Monsieur Erik Mannette, and her summer takes a completly different turn. Will she learn the lessons that Erik Mannette can teach her? Can Christine teach him some lessons of her own? Will their lives ever be the same again?

**Disclaimer / Claimer - whatever: **I own no part of Phantom of the Opera, however I do own the plot of this particular story and it's secondary characters. As the writer of this story, you must have my permission if you wish to reproduce it or publish it anywhere else.

**Chapter One **

_St. Elaire's Academy for the Education and Breeding of Fine Young Girls, est. 1760 _

_30th June, 1855_

It was a beautiful June day, the last in the school term. Outside the sun was shining brightly in the cloudless summer sky, the grass glimmered and the blooms in the endless rows of flowerbeds that surrounded the old stone building of St. Elaire's eagerly opened their petals and basked in the sun's glow. Inside the classroom however, things were not so pleasant. The school had be built for the freezing winters, chilly springs and gloomy autumns of Normandy, and in the summer it's classrooms proved unpleasantly stuffy and airless, making it's pupils uncomfortable and peevish.

In one of the ground floor classrooms, a particularly crampt, stuffy room filled with fifteen year old girls, a music lesson commenced. The lesson centred around 18th century opera, and in particular the works of Gluck and Cimarosa. Naturally, the class was absolutely engrossed; engrossed in their daydreams and toying with their quills and inkwells that is.

"Psst! Psst Edith!" whispered Bernadette, a bored student on a desk in the third row, whose fringe was sticking to her forehead with perspire. Taking advantage of the teacher turning his back to the class, she tapped her friend on the shoulder with her ruler.

"What?" replied Edith, a flush faced red head whose pale skin had burnt to a flamed crisp thanks to an afternoon lacrosse match played in the beating sun.

"Say pardon not what!" giggled Bernadette in a hushed whisper as she impersonated the school's much hated French teacher, the fearsome spinster Mademoiselle Glousse.

"Silence!" barked the teacher, spinning round to face the class, his cold harsh tone immediately silencing Bernadette, the entire class straightening up from their unladylike slouching positions and tidying their uniforms.

There wasn't a girl in the entire school that wasn't afraid of Monsieur Mannette . His sharp, cold voice could scare even the most hardened girl, and the full length white mask that concealed his face was a source of constant curiosity and terror. Older girls delighted in scaring the pigtails off the first years girls with all sorts of horror stories about the teacher. If the rumours were true he drank blood, ate puppy dogs and underneath his mask he had the skin of a rotten corpse. Some even said he was a corpse, dug up from the ground and given life by a dark wizard, and with his tall, painfully thin, queerly built form, he did at times bear closer resemblance to a skeleton than a man.

"Now, to see who has been paying attention to today's lesson," he remarked stiffly, crossing his arms in front of him as he always did when he was irritated, and on a day so hot, with a class so distracted; he was crossing his arms a lot.

"You!" declared Monsieur Mannette pointing at Bernadette, "The name of Gluck's first opera?," he said it as more of a command than a question.

"Er," stammered Bernadette, music always had been her least favourite subject.

"Well?", demanded the teacher impatiently.

"I don't know sir," Bernadette admitted sheepishly

"I see," remarked Monsieur Mannette, raising an unseen eyebrow, "Does anybody else know? Anyone? Anyone at all? Has a single person been paying attention to a word I have been saying this lesson or have I, yet again, been wasting my breath on a bunch of fluffy minded stupid schoolgirls with flax for brains?"

For a moment the class was silent, everyone bowed their heads and silently prayed for this storm of Monsieur Mannette's unpredictable and infamous temper to pass.

"Artaserse, sir," piped a quiet voice from the back of the classroom.

"Who said that?" snapped Monsieur Mannette, scanning the class with his sharp eyes.

"I did sir," replied the voice.

"What is your name?"

The girl blushed, Monsieur Mannette had been the school's music teacher for nearly a year now, he seemed to know the names of every girl in the building, yet didn't even know who she was.

"Christine Daae, sir."

"Well done Christine," nodded the teacher, relieved to have a pupil that paid attention., "And what year was it first performed in?"

"1741 sir," Christine replied quick as a flash.

"And the name of his last opera?"

"Echo et Narcisse, 1779, sir."

"His first opera to be performed in Paris?"

The girl paused for a moment to gather her thoughts, she was shy and unused to speaking in class, the fear of saying the wrong answer gripped her gut, but she knew she had to reply, it was on the tip of her tongue, it was, "Iphigénie en Aulide, sir"

For a moment Monsieur Mannette didn't know what to say, he couldn't deny he was impressed, he hadn't taught the class about that yet. He was amazed even that one of the spoilt upper class brats he was forced to teach actually managed to know something useful that wasn't related to clothes or idle gossip.

"Correct Christine. Well, I'm pleased to see that one of my students pays attention to their lessons. It is fortunate for Mademoiselle Daae that she realises how important music is, not just for personal cultural enrichment and entertainment but for one's academic knowledge too, I suggest that more of you follow in her example. Now, back to Cimarosa."

Monsieur Mannette returned to his usual post, writing on the board whilst simultaneously lecturing the class, who had already settled down to their daydreams once more. It was not long before the hands on the classroom clock struck noon and the bell in the main building was rung, symbolising the end of the lesson and the beginning of lunch. The whole class leapt to their feet and began to gather up their things, after lunch there were no more lessons, they would be able to pack their things and prepare for their parents, or rather their parent's servants to greet them, and take them home for the summer holidays.

The whole class that is, except Christine. Moving slowly she prized herself from her seat with almost an air of reluctance, by the time all the other girls had rushed from the room, she was still putting her books away in her satchel.

"Goodbye Sir, I hope you have an agreeable summer," she whispered shyly as she eventually made her way to her door.

She felt sorry for Monsieur Mannette, not a single one of his pupils had stopped to say goodbye to him or wish him a good holiday as they did all the other teachers. True, he was strict and had a strong temprement, but he was a good teacher, she learnt more in his lessons did she did in any of her others, and unlike the other teachers, his subject matter was actually _interesting_, if only the other girls could see that. Monsieur was right, reflected Christine, the other girls really did have flax for brains.

Monsieur Mannette spun around, surprised that there was still a student in the classroom, let alone one that wanted to speak to him. He saw his occupation as a teacher, not a pastoral carer, and therefore saw no reason to befriend his pupils, he almost prided himself on the fact that no student have ever greeted him in the corridors.

"Er, thank you Mademoiselle Daae," he replied, trying to sound cool after his initial surprise, "I hope your holiday is most agreeable too. I'm sure you will be very happy to go home to see your family again," he added with a nod. If Christine had been a male pupil he may have shook his hand, but as it was he turned back to the board, signalling that the conversation was over.

Christine left the room silently and made her way to the dinner hall with a heavy heart. The truth was, unlike the other girls, Christine was not going home for summer, instead she would be staying at the school. Eight weeks without lessons or companionship lay ahead of her, and the prospect made her want to go to the her dormitory and cry. It was most certainly going to be a long eight weeks.


	2. Chapter 2

**My Note: **Thanks for all your lovely reviews so far! Please keep them coming!

**Chapter Two **

It was yet another warm, sunny morning at St. Elaire's. The picturesque grounds looked even more beautiful in this fine weather, all the flowers were in bloom and birds could be heard chirping gaily in the trees. The school had been closed for four days now, four days that Christine had spent almost exclusively in her abandoned dormitory. In this time she had managed to complete all of her summer homework and had started on achieving her aim for the summer; to read every single one of the books in the school library. It may sound dull and tedious, but it was the only option of entertainment that she could think of. Four days into the holidays and she was already bored and lonely, Christine wished that she could hibernate like an animal in winter, curl up in her bed and not wake up until the first day of the new term.

Although the school was absent of pupils, Christine was not the only person left in the school. Many of the staff, including teachers, groundskeepers and school servants had remained in their lodging in and around the school building, but Christine only saw them at meal times when they would eat at the grand table at the front of the dinner hall. These meals were a horribly awkward affair, she would eat quickly and silently, sitting alone on one of the long, empty wooden bench tables that filled the remainder of the hall, feeling terribly self conscious. Christine was privately convinced that all the teachers were watching her from their raised platform and judging her conduct.

It was the midmorning, Christine had washed and groomed herself, had taken another terribly uncomfortable breakfast in the dinner hall, and was making her way to the school library. Selecting a hefty, intellectual looking volume from one of dusty shelves, Christine prepared to settle herself in one of few plum coloured leather easy chairs in the room. Usually these chairs were always occupied by one of the senior girls, and Christine felt a slight rush of excitement as she sat in one of these chairs for the first time. She felt suddenly intellectual and aristocratic, and if she allowed herself to daydream she could imagine that she was some wealthy duchess, and that this was her private study. But the novelty soon faded, and Christine was left with the cruel reality that she was really just sitting in a stuffy old library, holding a musty old book by some fellow called 'Plato', who must be terribly unfashionable for she had never heard of him before.

Through the library's French windows Christine could feel the outdoors calling her, and without much hesitation she decided to answer this call and made her way outside with the intention of finding a sunny spot on the grass somewhere, where she could read her book surrounded by nature. Of course, in doing this she was breaking one of the library's cardinal rules, she had taken a book out of the library without official permission. Christine was far from a bad pupil, in fact she could easily be described a model student. Some may have complained that she was too shy, but she took great pains to obey every school rule no matter how insignificant or ridiculous. The other girls constantly teased her for her fear of breaking the rules, but now Christine was flouting the rules she felt very proud of herself, and she wished that there was another student present to see her rebellion.

Strolling through the grounds Christine tilted back her bonnet and allowed the sun to shine on her face, bringing out the few freckles that dotted her milky skin. She felt reasonably cool beneath her summer uniform of a long, loose evergreen(for evergreen was the school's colour), cotton dress, however her undergarments, a white chemise, pantalettes and half cage bustle that had to be worn underneath her dress were most uncomfortable in the heat, and she almost wished that she could strip herself of them and walk around in just her dress, but of course, that simply would not do. Lost in her thoughts about uncomfortable undergarments, and busy looking for a sunny but cool place to settle with her book, Christine was surprised to look up and find herself in the company of a groundskeeper, busy at work by some flower beds.

"Good morning Mademoiselle," called the groundskeeper, raising himself up from the ground where he seemed to have been pulling weeds, tipping his flat cap to Christine as he did so.

"Good morning," returned Christine with a polite nod, "Lovely day is it not?" she added brightly, eager to speak to someone.

"Aye Mademoiselle, a lovely morning I'll grant you that. You enjoying this fine weather Mademoiselle?"

"I'm enjoying it very much thank you, it's certainly charming. You must be finding it rather enjoyable too, I'm sure weather like this will be splendid for your crop," smiled Christine, gesturing to the endless acres of the school's private orchard that lay in the fields surrounding the school grounds.

"Aye certainly Mademoiselle! If this weather holds out I reckon the fruit on yonder orchard will grow greater and juicer than I've ever known it to before, aye, with a bit of luck we'll be having a rich harvest this year!", he grinned, dusting the dirt from his loose, brown linen trousers and moving a little closer to Christine.

"I hope you don't think it out of place Mademoiselle, but I'm about to do some jobs in yonder orchard, if you wanted you could accompany me and see the fruit for yourself. Aye, I grant you'll never have seen such luscious juicy fruits," offered the groundskeeper. His voice was excited and his young face, tanned from the sun and prematurely wrinkled and weathered from outdoor work in harsh temperatures, grew more animated.

Christine hesitated; St. Elaire's was no charity school, it was a self proclaimed 'well respected academy for the education and breeding of fine young ladies', and it was certainly not done for pupils to communicate, let alone mix with the commoners that were the staff. But on the other hand, thought Christine, who was there to check who she was or was not mixing with? Besides, she had no one else to talk to, and she was sure that in some way the school would appreciate one of it's 'fine young ladies' taking the initiative to independently further their studies in the field of horticulture …

"I should be grateful to accompany you," she replied with a slight curtsey, a replicate of the one she had been taught in her etiquette and deportment classes. In these classes she had also been taught to arrange flowers, use cutlery properly and walk with two books balancing on her heads, but so far it was her lessons in condescending politeness had proved most useful.

The groundskeeper blushed, "Oh there's no need for that Mademoiselle, it's a pleasure to be in your company. What did you say your name was?" he added with a grin.

"I didn't, it's Christine Daae."

"Christine Daae! What a pretty name Mademoiselle! My name's Klein, I'm of German stock like, but since we're talking so informal like you may call me Stefan."

"Very well Stefan," grinned Christine, thrilled that their conversation had gone so well, "When shall we go to the orchard?"

"Shall we go this very minute Mademoiselle Christine?" smiled the groundkeeper, straightening his messy shirt and adjusting his cloth cap.

"Yes, Monsieur Stefan," giggled an excited Christine, "lets!"

Walking across the grounds towards the orchard, Christine found herself in high spirits, pleased to have made her new friend and enjoying the companionship of the groundskeeper. Though his country accent was thick, and his manner not nearly as refined as it should have been, he was a kind, happy soul who took great delight in amusing Christine was they walked to the orchard by pointing out each tree and flower and telling Christine all about it.

As they walked, the school building became all the more distant and further away from them. Christine had never ventured to this part of the grounds before, she had the feeling that it was terribly off limits to students, but today was her day of rebellion, and it gave her a sense of satisfaction to boldly walk past the student perimeters. Christine could see a group of small stone cabins come into view, single storey dwellings, some with washing lines hanging outside.

"Excuse me Stefan, but I do believe I have never seen those buildings before, whose are they?" Christine enquired innocently.

"Those are the groundskeepers houses Mademoiselle Christine, mine's the one of the far left with the rocking chair outside. I like to sit on that on warm nights and do a little whittling."

"How charming," smiled Christine.

"Well Mademoiselle, I just have to nip inside to collect my things necessary for working in the orchard and pour myself a glass of water. You're welcome to come in with me rather than wait outside here like a potted plant," he offered in a kindly tone.

Christine stopped in her tracks for a moment. Being walked to the orchard was one thing, but entering a house, unescorted, with a man that she barely knew was quite another.

"I think it would be better for me to just stay here, thank you Stefan."

"Oh," remarked Stefan with hurt surprise, "I see, well I didn't mean to offend you Christine, I just thought you might appreciate a glass of water, your cheeks are awful red and your breath sounds awful raspy. Are you sure you won't come in? After all, there's no one around to comment on it, and I assure you this is no gingerbread house hiding a wicked witch within," he added with a laugh and a wide grin.

"Well, if you insist," conceded Christine shyly. She had began to follow Stefan towards his cabin, when suddenly out of know where she saw a familiar figure walking towards her from the opposite direction.


	3. Chapter 3

**My Note: **Thanks again for all my lovely reviews, I hope you enjoy this chapter, please review with your thoughts!

**Chapter Three **

"Monsieur Mannette?" Christine called out in utter surprise.

The teacher looked up, and recognising his pupil beside a groundskeeper and his lodgings, his eyes widen slightly, spurring up to run up towards the cluster of cabins.

"You! Yes you! Halt where you are!" called Mannette as he ran towards the groundskeeper. Stefan stopped where he was and turned to face the masked teacher with confusion and surprise, he'd seen this strange man, with his peculiar habits and mysterious air walking around the grounds many a time, and from his private conversations from other staff members he'd heard that he was short tempered and irritable, not a man to be trifled with.

"What business to you have taking a pupil on a private outing away from the school building? Surely you have not forgotten the strict rules concerning how servants should behave around students? What is your name anyway?" Monsieur Mannette growled, reaching Stefan and stopping himself right in front of him. His hands were clenched in fists by his sides and he was slightly breathless from running.

"Stefan Klein Monsieur. I pray forgive me Monsieur, but I do not see what harm there is in entertaining a bored student by taking her on a perfectly innocent walk to the orchard?"

"You forget your place!" barked Mannette, "This is a very serious matter and I intend to deal with it as such, besides I do not see how you could be going for a walk in the orchard whilst a few feet away from your house!" he snarled darkly.

"Mademoiselle," he snapped, pointing at Christine, "you are to come back to school with me now. As for you," he added sharply directly his piercing gaze towards Stefan, "I will see to your misconduct later, in the mean time I suggest you get back to work and be far more mindful to remember your position in future."

"Yes Monsieur," muttered Stefan, his cheeks burning with anger at being spoken to so rudely, his eyes fixed on the ground in case they revealed his fierce, sudden urge to lash out and strike his arrogant interrogator.

"Very well, now come child," Monsieur Mannette concluded, clicking his fingers to indicate that Christine was to follow him as he walked away from the cabins and back towards the school.

"Daae is it not?" asked Monsieur Mannette after a few minutes of silent walking.

"Yes sir, Christine Daae."

"Well Mademoiselle Daae, I must say I'd have expected better of you. An intelligent girl like you should know better than to break school rules, and she should certainly know to remember her place and avoid commoners, especially the likes of that terrible _Klein_ fellow."

"I beg your pardon sir, but I meant no harm by it, and neither did Monsieur Klein, he was just being friendly that's all sir, I was so awfully bored and he offered to amuse me."

"You speak beyond your duty Mademoiselle Daae, perhaps you think that because it is the holidays you may behave like an adult and not a child and my pupil. And as for not meaning any harm, I fear you are too young and naïve to realise the dangers of people," he retorted bitterly.

"The dangers of people sir? But surely no one would have a motive to kill me?" asked Christine, her face the picture of childish fright, a mixture of confusion and innocence.

Monsieur Mannette sighed and shook his head slightly, "People are strange, unpredictable creatures Mademoiselle Daae, remember that next time you are walking alone. But in the mean time I suggest that we both forget this incident for now and put it behind us. I'm sure you will be home in a few days time and I do not see any reason to spoil your holiday by informing your parents, or anyone else come to that, of your misconduct."

"Thank you sir," whispered Christine, "But sir," added Christine after a moment of consideration, "I am not going home this summer," she said in a hushed tone.

"Not going home?" returned Monsieur Mannette, stopping and turning to look at Christine with a concealed expression of surprise, "Why ever not?"

"I have no home to go sir, the school is my only home," Christine whispered, suddenly ashamed to have brought the topic up.

"But surely you have parents that will be wanting to see you?" asked the teacher with concern.

"My parents are with God sir, my mother died in my infancy sir, and my father passed away last summer."

"Don't you have family that you can stay with?"

"I'm afraid I have no other known relatives that will take me in, sir"

"Oh my," murmured Monsieur Mannette, embarrassed at himself for his lack of tack, "May I apologise for my tone Mademoiselle Daae, I was not aware of your situation," he added gently.

"Not at all sir," replied Christine politely, "You were not to know."

The pair said nothing more for a few minutes at they walked back towards the building. Mannette kept his head up and eyes fixed directly ahead of him, he walked with brisk strides that made him look taller and somehow more powerful, but with his arms gathered behind his back, with his shirt collar slightly loosened and jacket discarded, he looked infinitely more human than he did in the classroom.

Christine found it a struggle to remain in step with her teacher, but none the less she didn't remove her shy gaze from him. She found it bizarre that she should have run into him so suddenly, and was confused that she had not seen him around the school before, he had certainly been absent from his usual space at the far end of the teacher's table at all meals for the last four days.

"Sir, I hope you do not find me impertinent," asked a somewhat breathless Christine as her teacher slowed down his pace as they came closer to the building, "but why are you here during the holidays?"

Monsieur Mannette stifled a brief chuckle, this shy student, who had been in his class for a year without him realising certainly did have a curious streak!

"I am here for a similar reason to you Mademoiselle, I have no where else to go. I had hoped that I might use this holiday to travel, but I regret that has not been possible. Instead I intend to read, to prepare my lessons for next year, and to quietly amuse myself as best as possible. And you Mademoiselle Daae? How do you intend to fill the holiday? Not by sneaking off with more servants I hope?" he asked with tone that Christine perceived as, dare she say it, playful?

"I know not sir, I suspect I shall follow suit, and simply read and amuse myself as well as I can."

"Do you have any hobbies to occupy your time Mademoiselle? Stamp collecting, flower pressing or what have you?"

"In term time I play a lot of sport sir, lacrosse, hockey and dance usually. I rather like to paint and sketch, I am told I am rather good, but I do not have the materials sir, and with the art rooms locked for the summer I do not see how I can get any. But I am lucky sir that the library is still open, at least I shall have plenty to read!" Christine smiled, nodding gratefully as Monsieur Mannette held a door open for her and allowed her to enter the school building.

"Read? Ah yes, that would explain the book in your hand. I didn't think you would be the sort of person who enjoyed Plato, but I suppose one must put one's Greek lessons to good use somehow," smiled the teacher.

"Greek?" questioned a surprised Christine, she was reluctant to admit it, but she had yet to actually open and attempt to read the book.

Monsieur Mannette smiled to himself, "Perhaps reading is not such a suitable occupation for you after all?" he mused playfully, "Tell me Mademoiselle, do you play an instrument?"

"As a child I was taught to play the piano, the flute and the violin, my father was a violinist you see sir. I loved music greatly and it was a dear and favourite hobby, but I'm afraid that I lack the instruments to play or the tuition to allow me to practise," admitted Christine shyly, embarrassed to appear impoverished, even if that was what some would say she was.

Christine's father had not been a rich man, his choice to dedicate his life to his passion for music had been one that forbade him to work, and quickly ate into his humble inheritance from his parents. There was just enough money left to keep Christine in education until she was eighteen, and what remained was to be used to buy her a humble trousseau and the rest to buy her a wedding dress, her father had been most strict on this last point in his will. There was certainly not enough money left for frivolous extras like instruments, paints or music lessons.

"Very well," sighed Mannette, once again ashamed to have said the wrong thing. "Well if you wish, I can loan you an instrument from the music rooms to keep you occupied in the summer, I'm sure there's a spare flute or violin somewhere, and you may help yourself to any music sheets or scores that you would like to practise. Would that suit you Mademoiselle Daae?"

"Oh sir!" gasped Christine excitedly, "That should suit me very well!"

"Excellent. I'm afraid I have an appointment to keep at the present Mademoiselle, but perhaps if you were to meet me in my classroom tomorrow at, eleven shall we say, I can arrange something for you, yes?"

Christine nodded eagerly and bid her teacher a warm goodbye as they parted below the stairs that lead up to the dormitories. Christine waited until Monsieur Mannette had walked down the corridor and then ran up the stairs at top speed, not caring how many school rules she was breaking by running and no doubt displaying her ankles as she did so. She was too happy to care, and as soon as she reached the dormitory she flung herself on a bed, not caring whose it was, undoubtedly delighted at the prospect of being able to play an instrument once more.


	4. Chapter 4

**My note:** Sorry for the lateness of this chapter, it has been due to various issues with my laptop hating me, but I've given it loves, and it's back on my side again. Thanks for all your reviews for the last chapter, this is my longest chapter so far, I hope you enjoy it, please review! 

**Chapter Four**

Christine slept terribly that night, outside a wind blew creating an array of ghostly noises, and made the trees move in a way that cast ghoulish shapes on the walls of the dormitory. With not a single soul out of the twenty that she was accustomed to sleeping with to keep her company, Christine was filled with childish terror every time she heard a floorboard creak or an owl hoot outside. Everyone of the ghost stories that she had heard in her childhood came flooding back to her. The other girl's tales of horror, tortures in the Orient, Egyptians being made into mummies whilst still alive, Celtic sacrifices, played on her mind and haunted her every time she closed her eyes. Despite her prayers, and lighting her bedside candle, her fear would not pass, instead she lay motionless in her bed, her eyes wide open and mind alert, creating a plan of action in the event that a specter should enter the room. Occasionally a cool wind would fly in through the chimney breast, making Christine shiver and pull her sheets a little tighter around her, too fearful to venture out of her bed and into the darkness of the room to find her bed coat and night cap. The clock in the main school building struck twelve and the echo of it's loud chime reached Christine's ear making her jolt in fright with every chime. She knew then that it was going to be a long night.

On the other side of the school, in a separate house where the teachers had their rooms, Monsieur Erik Mannette was having an equally terrible night. He had always been a poor sleeper and the unfortunate victim of frequent bouts of insomnia, but tonight he was particularly restless. Before he had come to live at St. Elaire's, he would occupy his sleepless nights with music, playing his favourite works or even composing his own; but now that he was forced to share a house with people that seemed to object to any nocturnal sound, let alone that of an instrument, he was no longer able to do so. Not only was he unable to play during the night, but he would often receive anonymous complaints, that reached him via the head teacher, Madame Foulerot, regarding 'noise levels' in day light hours too. Apparently some staff members found it 'too hard to concentrate' on their work. Erik never made any comment on this, he was absolutely certain that his music was no more of a disturbance than a bird's song, and his music was infinity more pleasurable to the ear, indeed it was his private suspicion that the complaints were made out of jealously and spite more than anything else. But he was well accustomed to such reactions from people, and he knew how they were to be handled. 

In the daytime Erik usually made do by practising his instruments in his music classroom, at least then he didn't run the risk of disturbing anyone, especially as he worked exclusively during meal times when the school gathered en mass on the far side of the main building, unable to hear him, and after school when the teachers and pupils where in their private quarters. But at night time he was unable to play, and he would often lie awake on those dreadfully long nights where slumber evaded him, yearning for his music to keep him company until dawn. 

Tossing restlessly in his bed, Erik was struck by a brain wave, with the school devoid of pupils, there would be no watchman guarding the main school building against intruders, thus allowing him to sneak into the building unnoticed, and find his way to his music classroom, where he could play until daybreak. Smiling to himself at this idea, Erik leapt from his bed, and hastily pulled his night robe and dress coat over his bed shirt, slipped on a pair of shoes, attached his mask, which lay in pride of place on his nightstand, and made his way out of the building and towards to school. 

Falling asleep in the early hours of the morning, Christine slept right through breakfast and awoke with barely enough time to get ready to meet Monsieur Mannette. The shock at seeing the time on her alarm clock as she awoke caused her to say the most unchristian curse her sheltered upbringing had allowed her to know, and she rushed around her dormitory, yanking on her uniform, throwing a slash of cold water from the picture in the bathroom on her face to try and make her look more awake. Fixing her hair as she ran wildly down the stairs in the direction of the music classroom, Christine didn't see the figure walking towards her from the opposite direction and by the time she looked up to see the tall man in front of her, Christine was unable to stop herself and found herself bumping right into Monsieur Mannette. 

"Steady on there young lady! Any one would think the building were on fire," observed Erik dryly, using his gloved hands to take Christine's shoulders and move her face away from his chest, as he took a few generous steps back from her.

"I'm so, so _very_ sorry Monsieur Mannette," stammered Christine, her pale cheeks glowing red with embarrassment. 

"I must say, once again I am surprised at you Mademoiselle Daae, I had you down as a delicate, dainty specimen, and now I see you flying about as if the school were an obstacle course!"

Christine didn't know what to say, her teacher's tone was hard and cold enough to suggest annoyance and anger as her misconduct, yet somewhere beneath his stern veneer, Christine could sense slight sarcasm, a repressed laugh, and she fancied that under his mask, he was smiling. For a moment Christine couldn't help but stare at Monsieur Mannette's white mask, her eyes fixed herself upon it and her lips parted lightly as if by concentrating hard enough she could see under it and view his true expression. Why did he wear a mask anyway? 

Discomforted by Christine's silence and the sudden obvious interest that she had taken in his mask, Erik turned away from his pupil and moved to make his way to the music room. 

"Care to follow me Mademoiselle Daae?" he remarked coolly, striding ahead, leaving Christine to catch up with the swishing tails of his dress coat. 

Devoid of pupils, the music room seemed far more spacious than it had ever done before. Without the distractions of her classmates, Christine noticed features of the room that had never caught her attention before now. The small pocket painting of Mozart at the back of the classroom, the framed pages of a frayed opera score, and a faded, well thumbed paper book in isolation on a wooden shelf to one side of the room. Too embarrassed walk at any pace faster than a shuffle in order to keep up with her teacher's brisk stride, by the time Christine arrived in the classroom, Monsieur Mannette was already seated behind his desk. His back was in it's usual rigid position, making him look fearsome and dominating once more, a figure of doom in a formal black suit, with a matching black cravat that served to make him look all the more like a gothic gargoyle, shrinking against the bright, sunny backdrop of the sunshine streaming in through the window. 

"Do have a seat Christine, though perhaps you would be so bold as to sit at the front of the class today rather that at your usual seat at the back of the class," he suggested with a little humour in his tone. 

"Thank you sir, and may I thank you for inviting me here today," whispered Christine in a mixture of genuine gratitude and fearful appeasement.

"Not at all Mademoiselle, I have little to do today, but none the less perhaps it would be best if I simply provided you with an instrument and leave you to it. No?"

Christine nodded politely, noticing the shortness in her teacher's tone. 

"Excellent, now tell me child, what was it you said that you can play again?"

"I can play many instruments sir, I have a small knowledge of the harp and the clarinet, but I am told that my true talents lie with the piano, flute and violin. My father was a violinist sir, I do believe that I you so yesterday," replied Christine sheepishly, as if ashamed of her accomplishments. 

"Very well, I will see what I can find in the instrument cupboard," sighed Erik, picking himself up from his chair and making his way towards the small store room where the school's instruments were kept. However, owing to the fact that most students bought their own instruments, there was precious few in good condition that Erik had to spare.

"Do you play any instruments sir?" asked Christine, out of a desire to cut through the silence that had filled the room. 

"No Mademoiselle Daae, I am a music teacher who can neither read music nor play an instrument, in fact an I am deaf," Erik replied, his voice thick with humorous sarcasm. 

"Oh," was all that Christine could manage, thankful that her teacher was still in the store cupboard so that he couldn't see her blushes. 

"As a matter of fact I play a number of instruments, the piano, violin, flute, clarinet, cello, harp, lute, mandolin, obo, the tuba, and, believe it or not Mademoiselle, the bagpipes," said Monsieur Mannette in a matter of fact tone that seemed to make his achievements all the more incredible. 

"But sir!" protested Christine in unobtainable disbelief, "that simply isn't possible! Surely you can't possibly play all of these instruments!"

"Anything is possible Mademoiselle Daae," replied Mannette calmly, as he walked out of the store cupboard, a black leather instrument case in his arms. "People tend to concern themselves so much with the impossibility of things that they seldom find the time to acknowledge the possibility of the same said things, that, Mademoiselle Daae, is the curse of humanity."

Monsieur Mannette said this is an uncharacteristically soft, distant tone, that had a bitter sweetness to it that made the hairs on the back of Christine's neck stand on edge. 

"I am sorry for being so doubting sir," she admitted humbly. 

"Hmm," murmured Erik wistfully as he laid the case down upon his desk, and unfasten it's rusty hinges. 

"To err is human Mademoiselle Daae," he said, reaching into the case to lift out an old violin. He picked it up as gently as if it were an infant, and stroked his long bony finger's down it's wooden body as if he were caressing a loved one. 

"But to forgive? Now that is divine," he added in a low hushed whisper that filled the room like a gust of wind from under a door. He spoke not to Christine, but to the violin, and Christine found his sudden attention to the instrument quite unnerving. 

"Sir?" asked Christine uncertainly, getting up from her seat and moving towards the desk, moving slowly as if not to startle her teacher. 

"Ah yes!" Awaken from his trance, Erik was alert once more.

"Here, a violin for you Christine. One that has seen better days I am sure, but there is nothing wrong with this, I can tell from the feel of it's body and the texture of it's springs. This child, is a fine instrument, whoever left it here to rot in this cupboard was either ignorant or a vain idiot, or possibly, as the case often is, both."

At this Christine laughed, quickly covered her mouth as if her laughter was an obscenity; Erik looked up, raised an unseen eyebrow and shook his head. 

"Do not hide you're laughter Mademoiselle Daae, when a human feels the urge to laugh it is one that must be obeyed, for there may well come a time in your life when laughter will not come anymore," he said gravely, handing the violin and it's bow to Christine, refusing to release them for a moment after Christine touched them, as if they were children he was reluctant to leave. 

The contrast of her teacher's humour contrasted with his sudden seriousness made Christine nervous once more but as soon as her fingers touched the violin, she felt a sudden electrify run through her. She couldn't describe it, it was relief and excitement all at once, she wanted to smile with happiness, yet at the same time felt crushed with the responsibility of the instrument. She had never felt like this before, and on reflecting on it later that day, the thought that a mere instrument could touch her so deeply made her afraid. 

"Very well Mademoiselle Daae, perhaps you would care to play me a piece or two?" asked Erik politely, sitting down in her usual seat behind his desk. 

"Oh but sir, I haven't played in such a very long time," protested Christine. 

"Oh come now child, do not be so bashful, play a little, I promise I shan't laugh," he added with a smile. 

Christine nodded and taking a few steps back, placed the violin under her chin and began to play. The notes didn't come easily at first, her fingers trembled and she could hear flat notes and terrible sounds coming from the instrument. She screwed up her face in frustration and put the instrument down. 

"I cannot sir," she protested once more, "I am nervous."

"Nonsense child! You are not nervous, you are afraid!"

"Please sir, I am not afraid," contradicted Christine, all the more flustered. 

"Child," interrupted Erik sternly, "I tell you this most solemnly, when it comes to music there is nothing to fear but fear itself, to overcome your fear, you need to face it. Now pick up the instrument and play!"

Christine took a deep breath, counted slowly down from ten and began again. Unable to think of a score to play, her fingers automatically leapt into a song of her father's, one that he had often used as background music to his many bedtime stories. 

She played it perfectly, each note sounding just as they had under her father's hand. Her fingers tingled with the excitement of playing her father's work, she felt so proud of herself, and she knew that her father would be proud too. He was looking down at her from heaven, and she could feel his eyes upon her. The song came to an end, after a brief silence, Monsieur Mannette began to clap. 

His claps were slow and shallow, and at first Christine thought they might be mocking her, but looking into his eyes she saw only sincerity. 

"That was very good Christine, you have obviously inherited your father's talent," said Erik, words of praise feeling foreign to his lips. 

Christine nodded, unable to speak, for she felt simply over whelmed with the thought of her father, and the power of his music running through her. 

"Perhaps it would be best if we called it a day for now? Here, you may take the instrument with you, keep it for the entire holiday why not? Would you care for a few scores for you to practise?" Monsieur Mannette offered gently. 

"No thank you sir," whispered Christine, "Just being able to play my father's tunes is joy enough for me," she admitted simply, as she lay the violin back in the case with as much care as her teacher had taken it out. 

The pair said not another word, they parted with a simple nod, for both felt overcome with emotion. However, where Christine could understand the source of hers, and was, as a person whose heart brimmed with feeling, accustomed to emotion, Erik was shocked and surprised beyond words at the thought that his heart could be touched by sentiment. '_It must be the music_', he told himself, too afraid to acknowledge the possibility that this shy young pupil had managed to touch something that had been long hidden in his heart. 


	5. Chapter 5

**My note: **Thanks again for all your reviews. A lot of people have been asking whether this Erik is Leroux, Kay or ALW, and to this my answer is he's a mixture of Leroux and Kay, but his personality will emerge as the story continues. This is a short chapter but I hope you enjoy it, please leave a review with some feedback and I promise to update very soon!

**Chapter Five**

Thanks again for all your reviews. A lot of people have been asking whether this Erik is Leroux, Kay or ALW, and to this my answer is he's a mixture of Leroux and Kay, but his personality will emerge as the story continues. This is a short chapter but I hope you enjoy it, please leave a review with some feedback and I promise to update very soon!

The day had passed in the company of music, music that swelled from the violin that Christine cuddled close to her shoulder, and filled her empty dormitory. But now it was night, the time for music had passed, and Christine reluctantly acknowledged her need for sleep. Despite the warm weather during the day, tonight a strong wind was brewing once more.

Christine's heart beat wildly as she prepared herself for bed, dreading the terrors that would seize her once she climbed into bed and blew out her candle. She stepped into her nightdress and pulled back her bedcovers, wary of any monsters that could be lurking beneath her bed, when suddenly she jolted and jumped at the sudden sound of gust of wind rattling the glass windowpane. She spun around to see if there was anything there, and seeing there was nothing, breathed a heavy sigh of relief coupled with shame at her foolish fears.

'This is ridiculous', thought Christine, scolding her childish imagination as she regained her calm, but she knew that ridiculous as her fears may be, they were impossible to quell. Moving to her bedside table to blow out her candle Christine found herself constantly looking over her shoulder to see if there was anybody there. She tried to be brave, but it was useless. Every time she tried to get into bed she'd have to check under the bed and the inside of her wardrobe for monsters once more, she'd avoid looking at the door or the window in case she should catch sight of a vampire, she became paranoid that a murderer was hiding under the floorboards, ready to jump out and kill her as she slept.

Fretting of how she would overcome her night terrors, knowing it was impossible for her to dismiss them and regain control over herself, Christine was surprised to find Monsieur Mannette's words springing to mind, '_there is nothing to fear but fear itself, to overcome your fear you need to face it'_.

"Yes," whispered Christine aloud, "That's exactly what I'll do, I'll face my fears!"

The words sounded grand and strong on her lips, they made her feel bold and powerful, like a naval commander about to lead his fleet into war against the British. She smiled to herself, impressed at her sudden inner strength, and with sudden courage and determination, Christine donned her night robe and slippers, took up her candlestick, and made her way to the door, out onto the passage that lead to the stairs to the main building. She resolved to herself that she would not go to bed until she had roamed all of the building that was open to her, no matter how dark and scary it was, and this was she would conquer her fear forever and be able to sleep without fear at night.

Venturing out of her dormitory, Christine walked along the corridor, making her way towards the grand staircase that lead to the rest of the school. Everything was submerged in black, and even with the aid of her candle, Christine could barely see what was around her. She moved slowly, walking in tiny steps to avoid tripping over the blanket of darkness that surrounded her. Every now and again, a splash of water could be heard flowing through the school's piping system, or a floorboard would creak underfoot, making Christine jump and become filled with fresh fright once more. She was shaking from top to bottom with irrepressible fear, certain that a gargoyle or banshee was waiting to pounce out from behind every door she passed. She wanted to turn back, to run back to her bed and hide beneath the covers and pray for day break, but every time she was tempted to do so, she remembered Monsieur Mannette, and forced herself to continue her journey into the dark. Finally reaching the top of the staircase, Christine grasped onto the handrail with one hand and cautiously made her way down the steps. She prayed as she walked, invoking all the angels and saints to be with her give her strength against her fear.

'Gabrielle be with me,' she whispered as she tried to calm her rapid heartbeat.

'Raphael be with me, Michael be with me." Christine paused to inhale deeply, and after a moment added finally, 'Father be with me, help me father, come to me with the Angel of Music, help me be strong," she spoke with great solemnity, as if she were praying, praying for courage, and in a way she was.

As a child Christine had never been to church, it was only when she had arrived at St. Elairs, that she began attending Catholic mass each Sunday. None the less her father had raised her to be religious. He hadn't raised her to be a Catholic, a Lutheran or a Protestant, but simply a believer in God. He hadn't taught her traditional prayers, but prayers of his own, songs of praise and supplication to God, he hadn't taught her the Bible, instead his own stories, morals and fables of his own invention; but he had taught her about angels. He had told her that everyone had a guardian angel, and that there was an angel for everything in life. An angel of love, of the poor, of animals, of dance, and most importantly, an angel of music. Her father had said that whoever prayed to the Angel of Music would be blessed with the gift of music itself, that they would receive great joy from all music, and that their very soul would sing with a beautiful melody, a melody that would sustain them better than any food or drink.

As a child Christine had been fascinated by the story of the Angel of Music, and would beg her father to tell it her every night so that she could dream about him as she slept. As she walked down the staircase, , remembered her father's words, and she hummed one of her father's songs to herself. She concentrated as hard as she could on each note, determined to recite it perfectly, and as she concentrated she thought of the Angel of Music. She could envisage him standing tall and strong behind her, his large white wings protecting her from all evil, his loving blue eyes blessing her, his porcelain hand guiding her step. She thought of her angel, and as she did, she was filled with calm.

Finally, she stepped over the final stair, and she was in the ground floor corridor that lead her the classrooms, she took a huge sigh of relief, and thanked her angel with all heart. It was at that exact moment that she heard the music.

The distant sound of a violin echoed through the corridor, it's bittersweet notes dancing in the air before dying out, only to rise like a phoenix from the flames with new, even more delicate, beautiful, emotional notes to replace them. Christine froze, unable to believe what she was hearing, there couldn't possibly be anyone around to play such music, it had to be the sound of a spirit! Yet Christine was not afraid, for the music was so beautiful, so rare and precious that she instinctively knew that it was divine, the music of an angel. The Angel of Music was here, it had answered her prayer and was in the school building, ready to comfort and bless her.

Suddenly a new sound joined with the melody of the violin; it was a voice. As soft as silk and as delicate as a rose petal, yet as strong as a tiger and as sure as the sea, it wasn't a human voice, it was the very voice, the very echo of the Angel of Music; of that Christine was certain. Her angel was here, and he was calling her, and free of fear and without hesitation, Christine blew out her candle, let it fall to the floor and ran, simply ran as fast as she could to find her angel, following the voice, that voice that called to her and showed her the way find him.

Racing down the corridor as fast as her feet could possibly carry her, Christine's ear's finally she found the source of the music, and her soul was filled with delight as she stopped close to it. The heavenly music was coming from behind a door, the very door she was standing outside. Which room was behind the door, Christine was unsure, for she had lost her bearings in the darkness. But she was certain that the music came from behind the very door in front of her. The door seemed familiar to her, it was the door of a classroom, just an ordinary door with an oak frame and metal door handle; without the slightest glimmer of the beauty and grandeur of the music that echoed from behind it. But Christine was too entranced to either notice or care.

Her eyes widen with joy as she reached up and touched the cool door handle with trembling hands, she was about to see an angel, not just any celestial being, but her Angel of Music. Was this how elated the Madonna had felt upon being greeted by Gabriel? Christine gripped the door handle and her heart stopped, too afraid to beat as she pressed down on it and flung the door open, hearing it bang against the door frame.

As quick the door hit it's frame; the music stopped, and Christine awoke from her trance, startled and flustered as if she had been suddenly woken from a vivid dream. Shocked, she looked up and in front of her and saw, not an angel, not a winged being, not a chorus of cherubs, not her Angel of Music; but her music teacher. He was seated in his usual chair, in one hand he held a violin, and the other flew to cover his mouth as it fell open in surprise, his mask and mundane white night robe were a mockery of the white wings Christine had envisaged. Christine's eyes widen even more, she was shaken beyond words, unable to take in what had happened. She felt the ground move beneath her, she opened her mouth to cry out, but as she did so the room spun and everything dissolved in blackness.


	6. Chapter 6

**My Note:** Sorry about the long wait for an update, I've been on holiday and unable to upload this new chapter. I hope you enjoy this chapter, please review with feedback and all that good stuff - you know I need it!

**Chapter Six**

Erik jumped to his feet as his disbelieving eyes saw Christine fall to the ground, her body hitting the wooden floor with a terrible thump. Her golden ringlets spread across her face, covering it like a death mask, her white nightdress and matching robe fanned out and acted as a shroud over her unmoving body. She looked like a corpse, a fresh corpse on the music room floor, for a second Erik thought he might be sick.

"Mademoiselle Daae!" he shouted in alarm, "Mademoiselle Daae!"

The girl made no response, she was out cold, her body utterly motionless. Erik ran to her and knelt by her side, tapped her face, her smooth, pale cheeks were startlingly cool, she felt like a porcelain doll. The girl didn't move, her lips remained still and slightly parted, her eyelids firmly closed. Tapping her cheeks with a heavier and heavier hand, Erik became all the more desperate to the point that he was nearly slapping her. Regaining control of himself, Erik returned to tapping her cheeks lightly, then he tried her neck, then her arms, then her hands, trying to gain a response.

"Christine! Christine!"

From the bottom of a pool of blackness, Christine could hear someone call her name, yet she didn't know who it was that called for her. Could it be an angel? No, the voice that called her wasn't that of an angel, it was far too mortal, touched with panic and fear, and all good Christian children know that angels do not know panic or fear. Yet despite it's humanity, the voice had undertones of great beauty that echoed gently in her ear. The voice was oddly comforting, like a hug or a kiss from a loved one, it made her feel safe and relaxed, and suddenly the pool of blackness became oddly warm and cosy, an inviting place for her to stay.

"Christine! Christine! Can you hear me? Wake up Christine wake up!"

Wake up? 'Have I fallen asleep?', thought Christine. Perhaps she had, yes now that she thought about it she could remember going to bed. In that case it had to be her father, waking her up in the morning when she had slept to long. Still, it wasn't often that her father had to wake her, she was often up of her own accord, helping around her house and out playing the fields. So why did she have to be woken? Was it market day, did she have to go to town with him? Did she have chores to do? Or was it the mother's birthday, for on her mother's birthday she always woke early to make breakfast for her, with a little help from her father of course. Yes! That was what it was, it was her mother's birthday! 'Yes', thought Christine, 'father must be waking me to prepare breakfast for Mama! I think I will make her pancakes with berries and tea with biscuits and I shall serve them on the best china on the best tray in my best clothes!'

"Please Christine, listen to me, please wake up!"

If Erik had been panicking before, he was hysterical now, shaking Christine's shoulders as if she were a rag doll in an attempt to rouse her. For five minutes he had been shaking the child, shaking her limp body and calling her name, yet she had made no response, not even a flutter of her eyelids. She had a pulse, thank god, but it was weak and shallow, filling Erik with alarm. If she didn't wake up soon what the hell was he to do? Call another member of staff? Send for a doctor? Of course, he would have to, but what on earth would they make of the situation, a young girl in a classroom with her teacher in the middle of the night in just her nightclothes. A situation like that lead to very clear assumptions, there would be scandal, there would be anger, there would be disgracing and for certain there would be imprisonment, even hanging.

"Can you hear me Christine? Please wake up!"

Erik shook her once more, he could feel beads of sweat run down his face as he panicked all the more. He shook Christine's shoulders again, more violently that he'd meant to, and grasped at one of her hands, gripping it and shaking it with his own. What the hell had she been doing down here? Why had she entered so suddenly without knocking and without reason? Surely she hadn't heard him practising? And if she had, what was she doing prowling the school so late at night? There had to be an innocent explanation, but right now, all Erik could think of were wholly uninnocent explanations that gave him no further insight or aid to rousing the girl.

"Please Christine! Wake up! It's me, Monsieur Mannette!"

Monsieur Mannette? Who on God's earth was that? That wasn't father's name, that wasn't her mother's name, that wasn't the name of anyone that Christine knew, and the unseen presence of this man, with his melodious voice, made Christine quiver with fear. So the voice wasn't that of her father? No, how could it be? It was far too deep and masculine to be confused with her father's soft, gentle tone. So father wasn't waking her up to make breakfast for Mama? No, of course he wasn't, for it wasn't Mama's birthday, Mama had died. Mama was dead! The revelation made Christine reel in horror as she was confronted with a cruel flashback of her mother's funeral. She could see the grey graveyard, feel the damp grass under her pinching black shoes, her arms were cold with the sharp November wind, and her face wet with tears. She could see a coffin being lowered into a pit, and she could feel a strong hand gripping tightly onto her own. Who's hand? Her father's hand?

She turned away from the grave and looked up to see who was holding her hand, but it wasn't father, father wasn't there, no one was there, for father was dead! Father was dead! Father was dead! Father was dead! Shock ran through Christine, her whole body trembled and spasmed as if trying to wriggle away from the fierce, ugly truth that had suddenly confronted her. Yes, father was dead, quite dead, and she all alone in the world. Her loneliness and solitude stung Christine and filled her body with pain, as if a knife had been forced into her side. She was all alone! Yet out of the darkness a voice still called for her, persistently crying out her name in tones of increasing desperation and urgency. Her angel was calling for her, her angel.

Christine's eyes shot open and in an instant she was sucked from the world of darkness and plunged into the crude light of reality.

"My angel! My angel! Where has he gone?" she cried out, her face flushed bright red, tears creeping down the sides of her face. She looked like a small child, reflected Erik, a small, frightened child.

"Shh Christine, shh, you are safe, calm down, you have nothing to worry about," whispered Erik, squeezing Christine's hand in an attempt to calm her.

"But my angel? My angel! Where is he?" Christine looked up at Erik, her eyes as wide and helpless as a child's.

"I don't know what you're talking about Christine," admitted Erik is a low, flattering whisper. His hands were shaking from shock, and he was feeling close to fainting himself.

"There was an angel," whispered Christine, her eyes darting around the room as if she was trying to discover where she was, "There was an angel, I heard him singing, the angel of music, my angel…" her voice trailed off and she gasped for breath. Talking seemed like so much work, she just wanted to lie down and sleep.

"Come here Christine," said Erik swiftly, noting how pale and weak she looked. Standing up, Erik attempted to help Christine to her feet by lifting her hands, but it was no use, the child didn't budge. Erik hesitated for a moment, he'd never done this before, and in doing it he'd be breaking everyone of the student - teacher codes of conduct at the school, not to mention society's codes of practise, but none the less, he bent down and hoisted Christine in his arms, holding her close to his chest.

My, how small she was in Erik's arms, so light and so fragile that Erik thought she might shatter if he dropped her. Too afraid of being caught in a compromising position if he carried her back to her dormitory, Erik held Christine with one arm, and used his free hand to clear his desk, scattering his things haphazardly on the floor. He then lay Christine on his desk, as carefully and delicately as if she was a precious antique. Removing his dress coat, Erik folded it and placed it under her head as a pillow, a little colour was returning to Christine's cheeks now, and to Erik's relief she looked less like a body lying in state.

"There was an angel," said Christine once more, her tone less frail and more determined that before. "I heard an angel right here in this very room, I swear it sir."

Erik swallowed uncomfortably, "You are very tired child, very weak and very tired, you do not know what you heard."

"No sir" protested Christine with unexpected vigour, "I was perfectly lucid and I heard an angel! I heard the angel of music!"

Erik shrugged, "I daresay you did, now let me fetch you a glass of water from somewhere."

"Do you believe in angels sir?" asked Christine meekly as Erik paced the room in search of a pitcher of water.

"No."

"Oh! That is a pity sir. Do you believe in God?"

"No Christine, I do not believe in God."

Christine gasped and a hand flew to her mouth, she had never met an atheist before.

"Why do you not believe in God sir?"

"Because child I see no need for belief, what is fact is fact, and what is not is false. I follow what I can prove, what I can hear, what I can see, I do not follow doctrine out of blind belief."

"Then you have no need to believe in angels sir, you can accept them as fact, for I heard one with my own ears in this very room!" Replied Christine quickly and eagerly, a smile spreading across her face.

For a moment Erik had a mind to be offended by this impertinent child's tone, but in spite of himself he found himself smiling, and he shook his head slowly and humorously.

"I don't have any water Mademoiselle Daae, I would offer you a little cognac to steady you, but I think under the circumstances that simply wouldn't do," said Erik slowly, deliberately changing the topic.

"A little cognac would be fine sir," grinned Christine eagerly, life returning to her body just at the thought of her favourite drink, "as a child my father used to give me a little before bed," she added with a sweet smile.

"Hmm," murmured Erik with a raised eyebrow, "Well in that case just a little," he smiled back as he saw Christine's grin grow even wider, displayed nearly everyone of her pearly teeth.

"You speak of your father a lot Mademoiselle, and with great fondness too," began Erik as he fetched the crystal decanter that he kept hidden away in the store cupboard, and the lone the crystal glass that accompanied it.

"I suppose so sir," admitted Christine softly.

"You say he was a musical man, so tell me Mademoiselle, did your father play in an orchestra?"

"I believe he did as a young man sir, he told me many stories of his time in the opera houses of Europe; Oslo, Stockholm, Copenhagen, Vienna and Berlin," replied Christine, fidgeting nervously as she sat up on the desk, "But he was a private man sir, one that thrived in the seclusion of the country rather than the bright lights of the city, he was more than content to remove himself from orchestral pits. After he married my mother, he made his own compositions and played them wherever he could."

"Your father must have been a very wise man Mademoiselle Daae," Erik commented ruefully, "And would you have called him a success at this Mademoiselle?"

"Some called him a genius sir," sighed Christine was a shrug of her shoulders. "I was told by these people that my father could have achieved many great things had he not fallen ill so young."

A tense silence descended upon the room, broken only by the sound of cognac trickling from the decanted to the glass; Christine could feel a lump forming in her throat. It was little more than a year since her father had passed away and the memory was still raw and painful.

"If you do not mind me asking Mademoiselle, what was your father's name?" asked Erik softly, momentarily stalling from pouring Christine's drink.

"Gustave Daae sir," muttered Christine, trying to clear the dry sobs from her throat and repress the tears that were springing to her eyes.

"Gustave Daae! The Swedish composer Gustave Daae, why I -", Erik stopped himself short as the sound of Christine's quiet sobs reached his keen ears.

"Mademoiselle Daae? Christine?" murmured Erik gently, stepping out of the store room and tentatively making his way over to his pupil as she tried to dry her eyes on her night robe's sleeve .

"I'm sorry sir," whispered Christine, gratefully accepting Monsieur Mannette's offer of his pocket handkerchief.

"No Christine, it is I who is sorry, I should have known better than to persist on asking questions about such a delicate subject. I was wrong and I ask that you forgive me. Here, have a sip of your drink, I'll give you a moment to dry your tears and compose yourself."

Erik handed Christine her cognac, which she accepted with a trembling hand, and walked over to the other side of the room, faking a sudden interest in his framed copy of Faust. It was only part of the first act, and it wasn't an original, nothing near it, but it meant a lot to Erik, and looking at him now calmed him, and gave him strange strength and comfort. For a moment his heart wished that he could give the same to Christine.

Christine sipped at her cognac slowly, each sip making her a little calmer and a little more composed, Monsiuer Mannette had not given her much and she soon finished it, resting her empty glass on the edge of the desk, making the crystal sing. Erik turned and gave Christine a smile that remained unseen behind his mask as he approached the desk where she sat.

"The voice I heard earlier," began Christine pensively as her teacher approached her, "It was your voice, was it not sir?"

Erik said nothing, instead he reached out for Christine's glass, took it to the decanter and refilled it, tipping it's contents down his throat, swallowing in a single gulp.

"I'm right aren't I, it was you," asserted Christine, looked Erik right in the eye.

Erik shut his eyes, he tightened his grip around his glass, and slowly, painfully, gave a small nod.

Christine sighed and shook her head sadly, "So that is why you don't believe in angels sir, because you are as blessed as one."

Erik opened his eyes and looked at Christine with slight confusion, his brow furrowed in concentration as if he was trying to read her mind.

"Oh sir, you are so very blessed," lamented Christine with genuine sorrow that weighted deeply upon her heart, "Why do you squander such talent on this silly little school?"

"That's it!" snapped Erik, suddenly all the gentleness and softness was gone, and it was as sharp and metallic as a carving knife, bitter and vexed, it had the bite of a caged tiger.

"I have allowed this charade to go on for far to long! That is quite enough Mademoiselle Daae! I expect you out of this room and in your bedchamber this very instant, before you give me cause to do you ill!"

His voice was so fierce that it hurt more than a slap from his hand ever could, she had never heard a man speak with such anger, such unprovoked and sudden anger. Filled with alarm Christine didn't even ponder the possibility of disobeying her teacher, and indeed, within that very instant she leapt from the desk and ran as fast as her dainty feet would carry her, up to her bedchamber where she flung herself under her covers and fell into a deep sleep, filled with strange dreams. It was the next morning that she realised that her nocturnal fears were indeed quite gone.


End file.
